A Scratch Upon the Window
by prettyedsilence
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes has a case to solve, he knows that Watson will do anything to help him. In fact, he's counting on it. H/W


It was the twenty-first of April. Approximately 6:50 in the evening. There was one fly in the room, buzzing quietly around the top left corner of the room, probably about to die judging from the infrequent sounds of it bumping into something, which stilled its wings for a few moments before starting again.

And of course, there was my loyal companion, sitting and twisting his fingers just hard enough to discolor his skin white. I had made him nervous.

"What are we waiting for?" Watson asked anxiously. His dark eyes glanced up at me before darting away to the other side of the room, presumably seeking out the fly. Not because he was interested in it, of course, but because looking at my face was too much for his gentle sensitivities at the moment.

I grinned for a second and then suppressed it, as was a habit of mine.

"As I have previously explained, we are waiting for the hint of shadow and scratch on the window which will mean that our man is looking in the window."

Watson removed his bowler hat and pressed it to his chest before bringing his arm back up and settling the hat back upon his head. It was a nervous tic of his; one that I found particularly endearing for the way that it shuffled his hair up, so different from the usual neat combing… rather unlike my own habits. I ran a hand over my own hair and discovered that I rather needed a bathe.

Pushing that aside, I rose from my chair, realizing that I also hadn't eaten quite enough in quite a few days, perhaps because of my intent focus on my plan coming to fruition. I didn't bother to hide the slight quiver of my limbs as I walked toward Watson; I knew that my rather frequent physical weakness served as a foil to my inimitable genius (if I may be so bold, but I see no point in telling anything but the truth, most particularly in my own recollections), and made his sympathy all the greater for it.

Just as I suspected, Watson's eyes ran over me, and his eyes widened, noticing just the things I suspected he would. He came towards me just as my feet stumbled over a board and I fell into his outstretched arms, my loosely tied robe coming undone and sliding over one shoulder, exposing bare skin, for I hadn't bothered to wear a shirt.

"Er, Sherlock old chap, is there a reason you aren't wearing both bits of an outfit?" Despite his somewhat sarcastic words, one arm slipped around my back, holding me up with a strength that might seem surprising to some.

He helped me over to the bed, which hadn't been exactly my intent, but would work well enough. In fact, this was a rather fortuitous event for me, particularly given that Watson was lying me down on the bed and pulling off my robe. I helped him willingly, and he threw the robe over the arm of a chair before sitting down next to me.

A long-fingered hand reached over me and I watched his eyes as he took my temperature with the casual air of one confident in his abilities. I was tempted for a mad second to tell him that I quite admired the way that he was able to retain his self-respect in spite of being so long in my company and held no bitterness toward my (if I am to be frank) superior brainwork. But then my powers of reason overcame me, as they always do, and I simply watched Watson purse his lips and deduce that I would be just fine with a meal or two, and a good sleep.

"You're fine," Watson pronounced, drawing his hand back, "but a good sleep is in order, as well as a meal. Should I call for the housekeeper?"

I frowned at him, scolding without words for forgetting for one moment about the case. "Have you forgotten the very reason that we're here? I will have plenty of time to rest after this next installment is done."

"Ah, right." Watson took off his hat and pulled it to his chest. "Now, what is it exactly that you couldn't tell me for fear of me taking exception to it? Really, Holmes, after all the cases I have accompanied you on, I would have expected a better respect of my tenacity and mental - "

There was a bump at the window, which I saw my steadfast companion register, and before Watson could put his hat back up to his head, I leaned over and pulled at him with both arms, drawing him down overtop of me.

Watson's face lay squarely over mine, separated by a mere inch, and I whispered in fevered tones, "Now you'll do as I say, won't you?"

For a mere moment I deliberated upon the desperateness of my situation should the good doctor refuse, but he nodded in a manner that indicated not only consent but possession of a zeal to prove himself right. There could not have been a better sign.

Quite sure now, I turned my head a little to the left and lifted my head up but an inch to brush his lips with my own. My hands were resting lightly on the small of his back, and though I felt his muscles clench, it was a momentary thing and Watson relaxed, even pressing his mouth against mine a small bit – though that may only have been what was natural for a man practiced in the arts of romance. I shall freely admit I am not one.

I moved one hand up so that it brushed his hair, cut rather short. If Watson had felt prompted to move his hands to my head there would have been ample hair to curl his fingers into, but my head was pressed down into the bed in a location that would be thought inconvenient for such by the most ardent suitor.

Our dry lips were merely brushing each other's, meeting briefly and then pulling back apart. I was pleased so far with the success of my plan, but needed to urge on my stalwart companion, if I should wish for the plan to truly come to fruition.

I pulled back enough so that Watson knew it was not simply a pause between kisses. I felt his surprise.

"Watson," I asked reproachfully, "is this how you would kiss your woman?"

"I - " Watson sputtered, "Holmes, I don't know what the devil you're up to, but - "

I looked at him, head tilted to the side in what I fancied was a rather flattering way, and said, "My dear man, are you with me or not? If you are not, I shall simply go find someone else to help me with this. Of course, this particular time is a loss and I may need to write the entire case off, but…"

My words were cut off (not a moment too soon, for I'd nothing more in mind) by Watson's warm mouth upon my own.

This time, as I had hoped, Watson kissed with more passion than I had necessarily expected, certainly not less. His mouth opened upon mine and our tongues tangled; warm wetness seeped into my mouth from the fervor of the kisses and for the first time in rather a long while I felt a hot ache in my groin. Without being able to help it (even a man as much in possession of his sensibilities as myself will misstep from time to time) I groaned deep in my throat.

This seemed to give Watson pause, but my momentary worries were unfounded as he pulled away from me and said roughly, "Now do you doubt me?"

My eyes locked upon his and I said, tenderly in my way, "Never, my dear Watson."

We came together once more and I took the fleeting opportunity to run my hand down the length of his spine, causing him to shiver as our lips touched. I fancied that he felt as struck by the effect as I did, for after the brief but deep kiss he reeled away from me and said, "Well then," in a stunned manner.

I sat up upon the bed, away from him this time, and reached out a hand. He leaned into it put I merely patted him on the shoulder and said, "We've done good work this night, old chap. I expect the outcome of all this is not too far in the future."

Watson frowned and opened his mouth, but I waved my hand at him and said impatiently, "All will be cleared up in time. Now, if you would do me the very great favor of departing, you shall see that a brown man in a suit will be coming up the stairs to see me."

The good doctor's eyes took on the misty look that they always did when presented with clues. The poor chap always attempted to puzzle the thing out without my help, which, though futile, was a brave effort and much applauded. An idle brain soon leads to discord.

"Well then," As he stood up, Watson hurriedly gathered his coat and hat and looked around the room. His eyes made a valiant attempt to stay on mine, but the effort was quite too much for him and before more than a few seconds had passed he had nodded and said, "Best of luck. I'll see you in the morning."

I heard the quiet noise of pleasantries as men passed each other in the hallway, and soon heavy boots (one heavier than the other, a war injury no doubt but I'd never asked) trod up the stairs and a fist knocked upon the door.

"Do come in," I called.

"Mr. Holmes, it is a pleasure to see you again," said a little brown man with a thick Indian accent. "But why did you need to see me with such exact timing?"

"Well you see," I got up and walked across the room to my seat and retrieved my violin from the floor, "I know that you have in your possession a tame hawk, which you allow to fly freely. Having tied a rabbit outside the window, I knew when you arrived, and merely wished for you to wait ten minutes before you entered."

"How did you know I have such a thing?" Jeremiah gaped. I sighed and waved it away.

"Distinctive scratches on both your sleeve and arm suggest a constant in your life, and the slight white staining that comes from the excrement of such a bird. Now Jeremiah, I am indebted to you for your appearance, but I really must ask you to leave as I am quite tired and out of sorts."

Looking bewildered, Jeremiah nodded and bowed his way to the door. I ignored him in favor of the violin, and soon began to scrape out a somewhat recognizable rendition of Mendelssohn's Lieder.

As the door swung closed, there was a smile upon my face, for the recollection was in mind of Watson swinging his coat around to cover a rather prominent bump in his trousers. Given my (you must excuse me once more, but possibly for the last time) observational powers, it was highly improbable that Watson would think I had not noticed such a thing. Therefore, he had let me know of something particularly relevant to my interests… if not to the interests of the detective case I happened to be working on at the time.

"The game's afoot, Watson," I whispered.


End file.
